


Hela Potter and the Backwards Path

by Ginger_Pie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-27 02:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_Pie/pseuds/Ginger_Pie
Summary: Hela Potter learned a lot of things early. Nearly all of these things were not pleasant but they shaped her and she likes herself just the way she is. Hela Potter is not a peaceful soul. The story will start very similar to the original but Hela recognizes two things Harry never did. One the good side cannot win with principle alone and muggle tech can be useful, especially when underestimated





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of the start is very close to the original but I am planning on diverging from canon more once I reach Hogwarts.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense. This was not to say, however, that they were a pleasant sort of people. In fact, there was not a single person in Surrey that could really say they enjoy the families company.

Mr. Dursley was a grotesquely big, beefy man with hardly any neck and a very large mustache that took up most of his round face. Mrs. Dursley was thin, quite nearly too thin many would say, and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere. In truth, the boy was exactly the product of the two parents. A truly vile child to say the least.

But they also had a secret and it was their greatest fear that someone would find out. The Potters were hellishly abnormal to the Dursley’s. To be associated with the Potters would truly ruin their _perfect_ reputations. Mrs. Dursley preferred to pretend she didn’t have a sister because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a daughter, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn’t want Dudley mixing with an abnormal child like that.

So, when Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrested a tantruming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed the large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was still having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

“Little tyke,” chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four’s drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn’t realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn’t a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back

Mr. Dursley quickly forgot about his strange trip to work. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he’d stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun or two from the bakery.

He’d forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakery. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn’t know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn’t see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

“The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard—”

“—yes, their daughter, Hela—”

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. There had to be a thousand strange families in _their_ world who named their daughters so weirdly. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure his niece was called Hela. He’d never even seen the girl. It might have been Harriet. Or Hinny. There was no point in worrying his wife; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn’t blame her—if he’d had a sister like that… but all the same, those people in cloaks… He shook himself from the train of thought and tried to focus on his work. Drills had never been so hard to focus on for the Dursley man.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four that night the first thing he saw was a strange tabby cat. It was now sitting on his garden wall.

“Shoo!” said Mr. Dursley.

The cat didn’t move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. Nothing from that terrible world could affect them.

How wrong he was.

For that night as, a breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. An exceptional child was placed on the porch of the least remarkable people that had ever walked the planet. Hela Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley. She had no way to know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret, or at least trying to, all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Hela Potter—the girl who lived!”


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front stoop, but the Suburb had not changed nearly at all. The lawns all still in perfect manicured states. The sun hit the brass number to the right of the front door and into the windows of the living room which was nearly identical to ten years before. Only the evolution of the large young boy in the photos on the mantle and walls had changed over the last decade. There was no sign of a fourth inhabitant of the home.

And yet Hela Potter was still there, asleep at the moment on an aged cot in her little cupboard under the stairs. Sleep was out of the question for Aunt Petunia was awake. Her terrible shrill voice acted as the small girl’s alarm.

"Up girl! Get up! Now!"

Hela woke with a start and sat up so fast that she nearly hit her head on the edge of the stairs that served as her ceiling. Her aunt pounded harshly on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Hela heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled off the cot and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it and a large black dog nuzzling her. She felt that the dream was almost certainly a memory.  She struggled to reach her clothes her wounds on her back pulling painfully.

Her Aunt was back.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded through the thin door.

"Nearly," said Hela.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Hela muttered obscenities under her breath as she hastened her movements.

"What did you say?" her aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing . . . I said I was almost ready."

Dudley's birthday - how could she have forgotten? They only mentioned the event every ten minutes for the past month. Hela got slowly out of bed and started looking for her singular pair of shoes. She found a pair under the bed, if it could be called that, and, after pulling a spider out of one she pulled them on. Hela was used to spiders after all, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she had always slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen, the table almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. There was a huge number of gifts for a single child’s birthday. Within the pile there appeared to the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Hela had no idea why Dudley wanted a racing bike, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise - unless of course, it involved punching somebody or chasing Hela. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Hela, but he couldn't often catch her. Hela didn't look it, but she was fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Hela had always been pale, small and skinny. Hela had a squared face, thin legs, auburn red hair, and bright green eyes with a ring of hazel around the iris. She wore large wire-rimmed round glasses held together with a lot of electrical tapes because of all the times Dudley had punched her in the nose or squashed her glasses under his feet. The only thing Hela liked about her own appearance was a very thin but red scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Hela was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Hela needed to keep her hair tidy or he’d cut it all off. Hela must have had more haircuts than the rest of the students in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way - all over the place with little regard for the desires of her Aunt and Uncle.

Hela was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel - Hela often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Hela put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Hela, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on and grabbed her small portion and headed to the chair in the small alcove by the sun door to eat her food. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty . . . thirty . . ."

"Thirty-nine, sweetgums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang, and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote-control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking peeved, to say the least.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Hela's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Hela's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Hela was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a strange old lady who lived two streets away. Hela did not hate it there, but she yearned to see the world beyond Surrey.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Hela as though she'd planned this from her cupboard in between her punishments and chores. Hela knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she thought of leaving Surrey.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about Hela like this, as though she wasn't there or as though she was dog excrement instead of their niece.

"What about whats-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca and I wouldn’t dare leave the freakish child there anyway," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Hela put in hopefully at she would have a day to herself in the house.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I wouldn’t blow up the house, at least not without you in it," said Hela with her eyes narrowed, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, ". . . and leave her in the car. . .."

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone. . .."

Dudley, on the other hand, was rather preoccupied with the gifts on the table and continuing to stuff his rather ugly face with food.

Just then, the doorbell rang - "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically - and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley’s head snapped immediately.

Half an hour later, Hela, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo. It was her first time leaving Surrey. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Hela aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Hela's, "I'm warning you now, girl - any funny business, anything at all - and you'll face more than the cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Hela, "honestly . . ."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever seemed to.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Hela and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Hela’s unruly mane had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so it just brushed her collarbones. Hela had cried herself to sleep that night, her hair was the only thing that was truly hers. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. She had been beaten bloody and given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Petunia’s (Hot pink with neon yellow hearts). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become until finally, it might have fitted a doll, but certainly, wouldn't fit Hela. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Hela wasn't punished beyond being confined for mucking up the wash.

On the other hand, she'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Hela's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Hela's headmistress telling them Hela had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she cried at Uncle Vernon as he hit her with the metal side of his belt) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Hela supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong, she absolutely refused to let there be an issue. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's living room. While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Hela, the council, Hela, the bank, and Hela were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning motorcycles were his favorite subject to bash.

". . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Hela, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Hela, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Hela. "It was only a dream."

But she wished she hadn't said a word. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon - they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas. As if the biggest threat to their lives was imagination.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance. Hela had shaken her head softly when asked if she wanted anything as to avoid later punishment.  

Hela had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one.

Hela felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon rapped rather violently on the glass, but the snake didn't budge an inch.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Hela moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its dark glittering eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Hela's.

It winked and smiled. Each was a feat of their own. She had never heard of a snake doing either in all her reading. Hela stared with comically wide eyes. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching her in the tank. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and whispered, “Hello?”

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Hela a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time."

"It must be very unpleasant in there," Hela murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying to see all these people tapping on your home."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Hela asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Hela peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil. This specimen was bred in the zoo.

"Oh, I see - so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Hela made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Hela in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Hela fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leaped back with howls of horror.

Hela sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Hela could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come . . . Thanks, amiga."

In her state of confusion, she quietly responded, “Anytime.”

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Hela had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Hela at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Hela was talking to it, weren't you, Hela?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Hela. He was so angry he could hardly speak coherently. He managed to hiss out “You know the drill," before he whipped his belt off of his pants. Hela trembled in absolute fear as she followed his implied order. Tonight was going to be bad. Aunt Petunia had to hurry off to go prepare for bed, she hadn’t the stomach to watch despite her hatred of the girl. She never did like blood.

Hela lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing she could die. She didn't know what time it was, and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food and water. Instead, she busied herself with attempting to bandage her back. Lashings with the belt were the worst form of punishment for Hela. The pain lasted so much longer than the bruises and more often than not tore the little clothing she had.  

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course, she was forbidden to ask questions.

When she had been younger, Hela had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought she could remember another family. Two men, one with long hair that bounced her on his knee and another man with deeply tanned skin with white streaks all over his face who gave the best hugs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the story starts to really diverge in Chapter 5!

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Hela her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again without a subsequent beating, the summer holidays had started, and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote-control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Hela was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley’s gang, who visited the house every single day. One would think that being a girl the boys would not be so open to attacking her, but no one ever accused the gang of chivalry. She tried in vain to stay out of their way, but the gang had a knack for finding her. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley’s favorite sport: Hela Hunting. As such she spent an inordinate amount time running.

This was why Hela spent as much time as possible out of the house. She tried to stay at the public library and read as much as was plausible. Hela also took up wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn’t be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Hela, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school.

One evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobby sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As she looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Hela didn’t trust herself to speak and wisely chose to say nothing as she bit the inside of her cheek. She thought two of her ribs might be further cracked from trying not to laugh.

* * *

Later in the week, Hela walked into the kitchen only to be roughly accosted by her Aunt. “Come on girl. We have to get a uniform for you, can’t have you ruining our reputation by wearing boy’s clothes.”

Hela, who had never had her own clothes before, perked up at the idea of getting fitting clothes for school. Maybe this next year wouldn’t be so bad after all. There’d be no Dudley and she would have clothes that fit. She might even make a friend.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both causing making an obnoxious amount of noise. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Hela get it.”

“Get the mail, Hela.”

“Make Dudley get it.”

“Whack her with your Smelting stick, Dudley.”

Hela dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—a letter for Hela.

Hela picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, Dudley made sure of that, and no other relatives. The only place she might receive a note from would be the library, but she never checked a book out lest the Dursleys find out. So, she’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Miss. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Hela saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

“Hurry up, girl!” shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen doorway. “What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke.

Hela went back to the kitchen and slipped her letter into the waistband of her pants. She hoped that the three wouldn’t notice. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard and went to sit down.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

“Marge’s ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk…”

“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Hela’s got something!”

Hela, who was trying to carefully conceal the letter, immediately denied this. Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes and held his hand out. Hela knew what would happen if she refused to comply and took the letter out of her waistband, placing it hesitantly in Vernon’s hand.

“It’s mine,” said Hela, trying to resist snatching the letter back.

“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

“Vernon! Oh, my goodness—Vernon!”

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Hela and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.

“I want to read it,” said Hela furiously, “as it’s mine.”

“Get out, both of you,” croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Hela didn’t move.

“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.

“OUT!” roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Hela and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Hela knew quite well that she would not have a chance against Dudley, so she crouched on the ground with her ear pressed to the bottom of the door.

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, “look at the address—how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”

“Watching—spying—might be following us,” muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want—”

Hela could see Uncle Vernon’s shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

“No,” he said finally. “No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer… Yes, that’s best… we won’t do anything…”

“But—”

“I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took her in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he’d never done before; he visited Hela in her cupboard.

“Where’s my letter?” said Hela, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”

“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Uncle Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”

“It was not a mistake,” said Hela angrily, “it had my cupboard on it.”

“SILENCE!” yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

“Er—yes, Hela—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you’re really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“Why?” said Hela.

“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now. And be back in twenty minutes, your Aunt is taking you to get your uniform”

The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn’t fit into his first bedroom. It only took Hela one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared at the room around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next-door neighbor’s dog; in the corner was Dudley’s first-ever television set, which he’d put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they’d never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, “I don’t want her in there… I need that room… make her get out…”

Hela sighed and pulled herself off the bed. Yesterday she’d have given anything to be up here. Today she’d rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it. She shuffled back down the stairs to meet her Aunt before she got in trouble for her laziness.

The whole of her shopping experience was limited to her annual fifteen pounds of the ugliest, cheapest second-hand clothing Petunia could find. As such Hela was wholly surprised when Aunt Petunia brought her to a store that was obviously not a second-hand store to get her new school uniform. This was not say that it was an enjoyable experience for Hela. Her Aunt still managed to be terribly unpleasant despite her attempts to act the opposite. But at the end of the day, Hela got her first well-fitting pair of clothes.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn’t have his room back. Hela was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she’d opened the letter in the hall or slipped the letter into her cupboard. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Hela, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, “There’s another one! ‘Miss H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—’”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat and ran down the hall, Hela right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him.

 “Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom,” he wheezed at Hela. “Dudley—go—just go.”

Hela walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn’t received her first letter. Surely that meant they’d try again? And this time she’d make sure they didn’t fail. She had a plan.

The plan was quickly derailed the next morning after Dudley’s alarm clock rang at six o’clock the next morning. When Hela turned it off and tried to covertly dress and creep down the stairs. She discovered Vernon looking rather like an oversized pig in a sleeping bag under the mail slot.  

Hela’s eyes widened before she turned and ran back up the stairs as fast as she could while staying silent.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He instead stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon.”

“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Uncle Vernon, hitting the nail with a large hammer Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Hela. As they couldn’t go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out the hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors, so no one could go out. He hummed “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Hela found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked Hela in amazement. Hela just shook her head. While she desperately wanted to know, she was just glad she hadn’t been punished with the belt again. Hela supposed that Vernon was just too distracted by the insanity that had been brought on by the onslaught of letters.

* * *

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, “no damn letters today—”

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Hela leaped into the air trying to catch one—

“Out! OUT!”

Uncle Vernon seized Hela around the waist and threw her into the hall. She hit the wall in rather painfully. She sat dazed for a moment while Aunt Petunia and Dudley ran out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn’t dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

“Shake ’em off… shake ’em off,” he would mutter whenever he did this. Hela was quite worried about his sanity.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He’d never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he’d missed five television programs he’d wanted to see, and he’d never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Hela shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Hela stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

“’Scuse me, but is one of you Miss H. Potter? Only I got about an ’hundred of these at the front desk.”

She held up a letter, so they could read the green ink address:

Miss H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Hela thought about making a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon glared at her fiercely in a way that promised punishment if she dared reach for the letter. The woman stared, mildly uncomfortable.

“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

* *

“Wouldn’t it be better just to go home, dear?” Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

“It’s Monday,” he told his mother. “The Great Humberto’s on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television.”

Monday. This reminded Hela of something. If it was Monday—and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Hela’s eleventh birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and pair of bargain bin undergarments. Still, you weren’t eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn’t answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he’d bought.

“Found the perfect place!” he said. “Come on! Everyone out!”

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

“Storm forecast for tonight!” said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. “And this gentleman kindly agreed to lend us his boat!”

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

“I’ve already got us some rations,” said Uncle Vernon, “so all aboard!”

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon’s rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

 

“Could do with some of those letters now, eh?” he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Hela privately agreed though the thought didn’t cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Hela was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Hela couldn’t sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. She had only been given a banana as Dudley demanded her chips. Dudley’s snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley’s watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Hela she’d be eleven in ten minutes’ time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Hela heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn’t going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she’d be able to steal one somehow. Maybe the author of the letters would come and find her.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she’d be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine—maybe she’d wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three… two… one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered, and Hela sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

 


	4. Chapter 4

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands—now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you—I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…"

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Hela!" said the giant.

Hela looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer mom, but I can see yeh dad in there too."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room. Hela decided this man was her new idle. Why anyone who stood up to Vernon was in her good books.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Hela," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat for yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat, he pulled a slightly squashed box. Hela opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Hela written on it in green icing. Hela had never met anyone who looked at her so kindly in all of her years with the Dursleys.

Hela looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, and what she said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Hela's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Hela felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath. This, whatever was happening, was easily the greatest thing that had ever happened to Hela.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Hela, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Despite the warm feeling that emanated from the man she was still wary of his presence. Hela did not have the best track record with adults after all. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she timidly said to the large man, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er—no," said Hela.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Hela said quickly. Starting to curl in on herself at the look.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. Hela winced harshly at the loud outburst. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Hela. She was on the edge of tears.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leaped to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. Hela was confused and a little bit scared as she pulled her knees to her chest on the corner of the couch.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl—this girl!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"

Hela thought this was going a bit far.

"I know some things," she said quietly in protest to Hagrid's declaration. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Hela. Her eyes widened in response and she recoiled from his anger.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My—my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Hela with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" cried Hela despite her rising terror at the volatile situation. She could not imagine this ending well for her.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Hela—yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"It's rather rude to call some that, you know?" gaped Hela.

"No a witch, as in yeh can do magics," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "I'd bet yeh'll be a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Hela at this time was frozen in complete confusion. Magic was not real; it was one of the first lessons that she had learned the hard way from Vernon and Petunia. She sat still for what felt like an hour but was likely no more thirty seconds.

Hela stretched out her hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Miss H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

—

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Hela's head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes, she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket of his overcoat he pulled an owl—a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl—a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Hela could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Hela her letter.

Taking him to buy her things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on a cell phone or sending an email.

Hela realized her mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her," he said.

"A what?" said Hela, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the worst Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You knew?" said Hela weakly, tears rising in her eyes before she could stop them. "You knew I'm a—a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course, we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that school—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. Hela has twin tracks of tears rolling down her cheeks at this point.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—abnormal—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Hela had gone very white. As soon as she found her voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Hela Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Hela asked urgently despite her tears.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Hela, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh—but someone's gotta—yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh—mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…"

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then began telling as carefully as he could the tale of James and Lily Potter and the war that killed them.

Something very painful was going on in Hela's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before—and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh. Of course, it was her luck to not remember her parents but still hear their deaths.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Hela jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing some more good beatings wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Hela, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them. She tried to hold them in but her desire to know more overrode the instincts the Dursleys had quite literally beat into her.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Hela. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Hela. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on—I dunno what it was, no one does—but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Hela with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Hela, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. Her tears from earlier seemed to be making a comeback. A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? she'd spent his life being clouted by Vernon, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Dudley; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come she had scars from Vernon's belt scattered on the back of her body?

"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch. I'm not special at all."

To her surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you were scared or angry?"

Hela looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it… every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she, Hela, had been upset, scared, or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, she had somehow found herself out of their reach… crying after the haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had hit her, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on him?

Hela looked back at Hagrid, smiling hesitantly, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Hela Potter, not a witch—you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish—spell books and wands and—"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know himself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER—" he thundered, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley—there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Hela saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Hela under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff—one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job—"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Hela carefully.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts meself but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

Hela decided quickly not to push her luck by asking more questions.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Hela.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. Chapter 5

Hela woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight. Hela wasn’t sure she could take waking up in the same miserable reality she spent the past ten years in. How could she go back after such a wonderful dream? A world where people wanted her, with magic and giants that were kind to her. It was enough to send the girl into tears.

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise. It sounded like someone was throwing pebbles at a window. And there’s Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Hela thought, her heart sinking further in her chest. But she still didn’t open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“All right,” Hela mumbled, “I’m getting up.”

She sat up and Hagrid’s heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Hela scrambled to his feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her. She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn’t wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.

“Don’t do that.”

Hela tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat.

“Mr. Hagrid,” said Hela. “There’s an owl—”

“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand”

“He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.”

Hagrid’s coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets—bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, Hela pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

“Give him five Knuts,” said Hagrid sleepily.

“Knuts?”

“The little bronze ones.”

Hela counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg, so Hela could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

“Best be off, Hela, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff fer school.”

Hela was turning over the witch coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon popped inside her.

“Um—Hagrid?” Hela said, softy. She pulled the corner of her shirt while chewing on her lip.

“Mm?” said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

“I haven’t got any money—and you heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won’t pay for me to go and learn magic.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”

“But if their house was destroyed—”

“They didn’ keep their gold in the house! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards’ bank. Have a sausage, they’re not bad cold—an’ I wouldn’ say no teh a bit o’ yer birthday cake, neither.”

“Wizards have banks?”

“Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”

Hela dropped the bit of sausage she was holding. Goblins were real too, what was next dragons?

“Goblins?”

“Yeah—so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Hela. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—’cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you—gettin’ things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see.

“Got everythin’? Come on, then.”

Hela followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

“How did you get here?” Hela asked, looking around for another boat.

“Flew,” said Hagrid.

“Flew?”

“Yeah—but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve got yeh.”

They settled down in the boat, Hela still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

“Seems a shame ter row, though,” said Hagrid, giving Hela another of his sideways looks. “If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”

“Of course not,” said Hela, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

“Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?” Hela asked.

“Spells—enchantments,” said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. “They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.”

Hela sat in shocked silence. Dragons were real. She could hardly believe it. After concluding that Hagrid wouldn’t lie to her Hela decided she wanted a dragon. If she could talk to a snake, then surely that must connect to a dragon. Hela sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Hela had learned the hard way from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she’d never had so many questions in her life.

“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

“There’s a Ministry of Magic?” Hela asked before she could stop herself. She barely resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth wincing in anticipation for a hit that never came. Her eyes peeked open when Hagrid began to answer.

“’Course,” said Hagrid. “They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

“But what does a Ministry of Magic do?” Hela asked cautiously when she realized she wouldn’t be punished for asking questions.

“Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there’s still witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.”

“Why?”

“Why? Blimey, Hela, everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.”

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Hela couldn’t blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, “See that, Hela? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”

“Hagrid,” said Hela, panting a bit as she ran to keep up, “did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?”

“Well, so they say,” said Hagrid. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”

“I think I’d like one too.”

“Wanted one ever since I was a kid, nice to meet a like-minded soul,” Hagrid grinned. “Here we go.”

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand “Muggle money,” as he called it, gave the bills to Hela so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

“Still got yer letter, Hela?” he asked as he counted stitches.

Hela took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.

“Good,” said Hagrid. “There’s a list there of everything yeh need.”

Hela unfolded the second piece of paper she hadn’t noticed the night before, and read the list of books and supplies she would need. It was a strange assortment. Hela thought it was peculiar that there was no maths or English required readings.

“Can we buy all this in London?” Hela wondered aloud.

“If yeh know where to go,” said Hagrid.

Hela had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

“I don’t know how the Muggles manage without magic,” he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Hela had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of witch gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Hela hadn’t known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor and little intelligence to boot, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Hela couldn’t help trusting him.

“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Hela wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Hela had the feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Hela’s shoulder and making Hela’s knees buckle.

“Good Lord,” said the bartender, peering at Hela, “is this—can this be—?”

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

“Bless my soul,” whispered the old bartender, “Hela Potter… what an honor.”

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Hela and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

“Welcome back, Miss. Potter, welcome back.”

Hela didn’t know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Hela found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. She was sure that she did not like this and shrank in on herself slightly, her heartbeat fastening.

“Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”

“So proud, Miss Potter, I’m just so proud.”

“Always wanted to shake your hand—I’m all of a flutter.”

“Delighted, Miss Potter, just can’t tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

“I’ve seen you before!” said Hela, as Dedalus Diggle’s top hat fell off in his excitement. “You bowed to me once in a shop.”

“She remembers!” cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? She remembers me!”

Hela shook hands again and again. It was becoming rather hard for her to breathe by the time a pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. She was completely sure she did not like this man even in her panicked state. He felt almost slimy.

“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid. “Hela, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Hela’s hand, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”

“What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?”

“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought. Something about the stutter in his voice sounded manufactured. Hela was immediately resolute that she would not be caught alone with him.

But the others wouldn’t let Professor Quirrell keep Hela to himself, thank god. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

“Must get on—lots ter buy Come on, Hela.”

Doris Crockford shook Hela’s hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing, but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Hela.

“Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh—mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“Is he always that nervous?”

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject—now, where’s my umbrella?”

Vampires? Hags? Hela’s head was swimming from the new information. She was also trying to quell her breathing and heartbeat. She didn’t understand why she was scared. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

“Three up… two across…” he muttered. “Right, stand back, Hela.”

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered—it wriggled—in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

He grinned at Hela’s amazement. They stepped through the archway. Hela looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall. She forgot her fear in wonder at the Alley.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ one,” said Hagrid, “but we gotta get yer money first.”

Hela wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once. The walk to Gringotts was both long and short to Hela. 

“Gringotts,” said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

“Yeah, that’s a goblin,” said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Hela. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Hela noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Hela thought the action was a bit strange but dipped her head in a bow. The goblin looked at her with a curious glint in his, not that Hela noticed. She was too preoccupied with the ominous words engraved upon a large set of doors:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

“Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall and Hela repeated her earlier bow without thought. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. Hagrid and Hela made for the counter.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Miss Hela Potter’s safe.”

“You have her key, sir?”

“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid. He shuffled around a bit before finding the key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

“That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin read the letter carefully.

“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

Griphook was yet another goblin, Hela followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall. Hela weighed the idea of asking about the mission Hagrid but shrugged it off. She had no desire to anger him with nosy questions.

Griphook held the door open for them. Hela, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Hagrid with some difficulty—and were off.

Hela’s eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. She squealed in glee at the feeling; it was as though she was flying. Griphook looked surprised at the undisguised glee on her face, he was even more surprised when she grinned at him. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor. Hela was so distracted she didn’t not Hagrid’s green disposition until after they disembarked from the cart.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Hela gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

“All yours,” smiled Hagrid.

All Hela’s—it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn’t have known about this or they’d have had it from her faster than blinking. She had a moment of panic before deciding to not mention any of her newfound wealth to the Dursleys. If they asked, which was unlikely she would say it was from an orphan fund. How often had they complained how much Hela cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Hela pile some of it into a bag.

“The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o’ terms.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?”

“One speed only,” said Griphook with a vicious smile.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed, Hela laughed with joy as her hair whipped back. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Hela leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back much to her disappointment.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.

“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Hela asked.

“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Hela giggled at the bluntness in his answer.

While Hagrid was grabbing the contents vault, Hela fixed the goblin with a curious look, “Are there really dragons here?”

The goblin seemed to be rather confused by the lack of fear in her eyes, “Yes of course,” he said shortly. Hela opened he mouth to reply but was cut off by Hagrid.

“Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, its best if I keep my mouth shut,” said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Hela didn’t know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn’t have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she’d had in her whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.

“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Hela, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.” He did still look a bit sick, so Hela entered Madam Malkin’s shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she said when Hela started to speak. “Got the lot here—another person waiting to be fitted just now, in fact.”

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was sitting on a bench looking bored. Hela sat next to him and pulled out a book on Nordic runes.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Hela.

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Hela was strongly reminded of Dudley.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“Nope, they look wonderful though,” said Hela.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” Hela said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be. She assumed it must be a sport.

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you’ll be in yet?”

“No,” said Hela, feeling more outplace than previously.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said Hela, wishing she could say something a bit more interesting.

“I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Hela and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid,” said Hela, pleased to know something the boy didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” said Hela. She was liking the boy less and less every second.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“I think he’s brilliant and you would do well to remember not to judge others based on gossip. It’s often terribly wrong,” said Hela coldly.

“Do you?” said the boy, with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead, not that it is any of your business,” said Hela shortly. She didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

“Oh, sorry,” said the other, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and witch, if that’s what you mean,” Hela narrowed her eyes further at the boy. 

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

But before Hela could answer, Madam Malkin said, “We are ready for two,” and Hela, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped off the couch and walked with the assistant.

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the drawling boy.

Hela was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts) after the fitting was finished.

“What’s up?” said Hagrid.

“Nothing,” Hela lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Hela cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, she said, “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”

“Blimey, Hela, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know—not knowin’ about Quidditch!”

“Don’t make me feel worse,” said Hela. She told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin’s.

“—and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in—”

“Yer not from a Muggle family. If he’d known who yeh were—he’s grown up knowin’ yer name if his parents are wizardin’ folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ’em in a long line o’ Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!”

“So what is Quidditch?”

“It’s our sport. Witch sport. It’s like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules.”

“And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?”

“School Houses. There’s four.”

They bought Hela’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hela was in love. She darted about the store and left with no less than fifty books of varying types.

Hagrid wouldn’t let Hela buy a solid gold cauldron, either (“It says pewter on yer list”), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Hela, Hela looked at some of the more extensive sets.

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Hela’s list again.

“Just yer wand left—oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

Hela felt herself go red.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Hows about we go to pick one out and after we get yer wand?”

Twenty minutes later, they left the store, which had been completely filled with animals of an abundance of types, with a small fluffy ball of fur. The tiny kitten had white fur with curious dark speckles all over. She couldn’t stop stammering her thanks, sounding uncannily like Professor Quirrell.

“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now—only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

A magic wand… this was what Hela had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382b.c. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Hela felt strange as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Hela jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello,” said Hela awkwardly.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Hela Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s hair. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Hela. Hela wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Hela. Hela did not appreciate his nearness which the man seemed to note before backing up.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it’s really the wand that chooses the witch, of course.”

“And that’s where…”

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Hela’s forehead with a long, white finger. Hela jerked back at the touch.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

He shook his head and then, to Hela’s relief, spotted Hagrid.

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now—Miss Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Well, I’m right-handed,” said Hela.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Hela from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch’s wand.”

Hela suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Hela took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—”

Hela tried—but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Hela tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—elder and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Hela took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a swirl of deep green sparks came from the tip, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

He put Hela’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious… curious…”

“Sorry,” said Hela, “but what’s curious?”

Mr. Ollivander fixed Hela with his pale stare.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Hela swallowed.

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great.”

Hela shivered.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Hela and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty Hela didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn’t even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the small kitten asleep in its cage on Hela’s lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Hela only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” he said.

He bought Hela a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Hela kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

“You all right, Hela? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid.

Hela wasn’t sure she could explain. She’d just had the best birthday of her life—and yet—she chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

“Everyone thinks I’m special,” she said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol-, sorry—I mean, the night my parents died. I’m just a girl, how am supposed to live up to this image?”

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.

“Don’ you worry, Hela. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yourself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did—still do, ’smatter of fact.”

Hagrid helped Hela on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.

“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September—King’s Cross—it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter, the post knows where to find me… See yeh soon, Hela.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hela's last month with the Dursley’s would have been wholly less pleasant if the three hadn’t been too scared to be in the same room alone. So, apart from one particularly bad beating from Vernon the night she returned from Diagon Alley, Hela had read. Hela devoured the knowledge of the magic world. She read books on everything from curses to pureblood manners. She soaked up as much knowledge as she could. Hela was determined to not be out of place when she got to Hogwarts. In the same vein, Hela was glad she had purchased a full wardrobe from Madam Malkin’s.

Hela stayed in her room or in one her hidden nooks nearby the house. She had little company. It was only her and her small cat, which she had discovered was a magical breed called a kneazle. Hela settled on the name Nemesis for her companion as the young cat was prideful and the smallest bit vengeful towards the Dursleys.  Hela was not sure how Nemesis managed it every night, but the cat would venture out her window and return an hour or two later. She supposed it must be magic.

Every night before she went to sleep, Hela ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first. Hela was quite sure that the Dursleys would be happy to be rid of her. It was the last day of August that she worked up enough courage to go into the kitchen to ask for a ride.

 “Er—Uncle Vernon?”

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

“Er—I need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow to—to go to Hogwarts.”

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

“Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?”

Grunt. Hela supposed that meant yes.

“Thank you.”

She was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon spoke.

“Funny way to get to a wizards’ school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?”

Hela didn’t say anything. She let out a breath when she realized she was not being punished.

“Where is this school, anyway?”

“I read in a history book that it is hidden in Scotland but beyond that, they weren’t very specific,” said Hela. She pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket.

  Uncle Vernon said, “All right, we’ll take you to King’s Cross. We’re going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn’t bother.”

“Why are you going to London?” Hela asked, trying to keep things friendly. She however immediately regretted her question.

“Taking Dudley to the hospital,” growled Uncle Vernon. “Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings.”

Hela woke at five o’clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on her favorite clothes, these just so happened to be an aged band t-shirt and a similarly worn pair of jeans. Hela didn’t want to walk into the station in her wizard’s robes—she’d change on the train. She looked at her trunk and was once again glad the shop clerk had convinced her to get a trunk with three large separate compartments. Hela could pack almost every item she owned. She was still amazed that the bag weighed so little with all her books and had so much space inside.

She checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything he needed and a couple things she didn’t. She had all her needed supplies and some more effective muggle things like notebooks, mechanical pencils, and ballpoint pens. Hela did not know the logic behind using parchment and quills, but she didn’t dwell on the fact too much. She placed Nemesis in her wicker cage just before they left. Hela’s large, and strangely light trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys’ car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Hela, and they had set off.

They reached King’s Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Hela’s trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Hela thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

“Well, there you are, girl. I won’t see you until summer. Have a good term,” said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Hela turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing.

Hela was confused when she came to the ninth platform and saw no platform nine and three-quarters. She stopped and looked at a passing guard. She considered asking for help but doubted the guard would believe her. Hela was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk, a pocket full of wizard money, and a small cat.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words of what they were saying.

“—packed with Muggles, of course—”

Hela swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Hela’s in front of her—and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Hela pushed her cart after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

“Now, what’s the platform number?” said the boys’ mother.

“Nine and three-quarters!” piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, “Mom, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.”

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Hela watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it—but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of her and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” said the boy. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear.”

“Only joking, I am Fred,” said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so because a second later, he had gone—but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier—he was almost there—and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

“Excuse me,” Hela said to the plump woman.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

“Yes,” said Hela. “The thing is—the thing is, I don’t know how to—”

“How to get onto the platform?” she said kindly, and Hela nodded.

“Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.”

“Er—okay,” said Hela.

She pushed her trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. The woman did seem kind…

She started to walk toward it. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Hela walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she’d be in trouble—leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy run—the barrier was coming nearer and nearer—she wouldn’t be able to stop—the cart was out of control—she was a foot away—she closed his eyes ready for the crash—

It didn’t come… she kept on running… she opened her eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. Hela looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. She had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. Her heart started to slow down a bit.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Hela pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.”

“Oh, Neville,” she heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

“Give us a look, Lee, go on.”

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Hela pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She placed Nemesis inside first and then tried to maneuver her trunk into the train. She discovered quickly that just because the trunk was light did not mean that it was easy to get on the train.

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins she’d followed through the barrier.

“Yes, please,” Hela panted.

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

With the twins’ help, Hela’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

“Thanks,” said Hela, pushing her wild hair out of her eyes.

“What’s that?” said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Hela’s lightning scar.

“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you—?”

“She is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Hela.

“What?” said Hela.

“Hela Potter,” chorused the twins.

“Oh, her,” said Hela. “I mean, yes, I am.”

The two boys gawked at her, and Hela felt herself turning red. 

“Fred? George? Are you there?”

“Coming, Mom.”

With a last look at Hela, the twins hopped off the train but not before stating, “We’ll be back!”

Hela sat down in stunned silence. She had nearly forgotten her famed status. She supposed the red-head twins were rather kind, so she decided she didn’t mind their company. Hela sat down next to the window where half hidden, she could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.”

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

“Mom—geroff.” He wriggled free.

“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. Hela giggled at the twin’s antics.

“Shut up,” said Ron.

“Where’s Percy?” said their mother.

“He’s coming now.”

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Hela noticed a shiny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—”

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin. “Once—”

“Or twice—”

“A minute—”

“All summer—”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins.

“Because he’s a prefect,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

“Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve—you’ve blown up a toilet or—”

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mom.”

“It’s not funny. And look after Ron.”

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

“Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just befriended on the train?”

Hela leaned back quickly so they couldn’t see her looking.

“You know that red-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?”

“Who?”

“Hela Potter!”

Hela heard the little girl’s voice.

“The poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked her. Saw her scar. It’s really there—like lightning. We’re sitting with her for the ride”

“Poor dear—no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform. Be kind to her, and don’t you two go corrupting the girl.”

“All right, keep your hair on,” the twins sounded rather putout at their mother’s demand.

A whistle sounded.

“Hurry up!” their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”

“George!”

“Only joking, Mom.”

The train began to move. Hela saw the boys’ mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Hela watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Hela felt a great leap of excitement. The door of the compartment slid open and the twins were back.

 “Hela,” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley.”

“Hello, but I’m pretty sure names are the other way around. And this is Nemesis,” said Hela seriously gesturing at her sleeping companion. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them. The two more than a little shell-shocked that Hela immediately caught on to their ploy. For Merlin’s sake even, their family couldn’t catch on half the time. They glanced at each other and decided then and there this was the start of an amazing friendship.

The three sat in companionable silence as they settled in.  Hela pulled out her book on Egyptian runes and mythology while the twins scribbled notes in journals (Hela suspected they were planning pranks). Nemesis curled up lightly on blanket Hela had brought for her.

 About thirty minutes into the train ride Hela looked up to notice George and Fred starring at her. Hela carefully placed her book down, using a metal bookmark to save her place.

“Yes?” Hela said while arching her eyebrow slightly.

The two shared a look before saying in unison, “What are muggles like?”

“Horrible—well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. I would have strongly preferred living in a wizarding family. But muggles do have the coolest gadgets, y’know like the internet, phones, and guns!”

George seemed to recover from her declaration before Fred, “What are those?”

And thus, the first three hours passed quickly as the two quizzed her on all the muggle technology she mentioned, they were especially interested in the idea of the internet. Hela was amid her explanation of planes when someone rather harshly knocked on the door.

The compartment door slid open.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

“Sorry, no toad here,” Hela chimed to the duo in the doorway. The boy looked rather forlorn.

Fred helpfully chimed in that a prefect might have a spell that would be helpful, as George nodded sagely.

 “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” said the girl.

 “I’m Fred Weasley,” said George.

“I’m George Weasley,” said Fred.

“Hela Potter,” said Hela while rolling her eyes at the twin’s antics. “And this is Nemesis,” she said gesturing at her cat.

“Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?” said Hela, feeling dazed.

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” said Hermione. “Do either of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad… Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

“I never did ask, what house are you two troublemakers in?”

 “Gryffindor,” said the Fred.

 “Now more importantly, what’s your Quidditch team?”  George asked leaning forward.

“Er—I don’t know any,” Hela confessed.

“The Horror, oh Gred this must be remedied.”

“Yes, Feorge, it's simply our duty!”

And they were off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games they’d been to with their family. They were just taking Hela through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Hela recognized the middle one at once: It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was looking at Hela with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that Hela Potter’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“Yes, I suppose given I am the only female in this compartment,” said Hela, sarcasm dripping off her words. She gave them a flat look completely unimpressed. Both boys that Hela did not know were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Hela was looking. “And my names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Hela gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco looked rather miffed at the sentiment. The twins looked mighty confused at her reaction to the introduction.

“I’m sorry, you just sounded like a character from my favorite movie in the muggle world,” Hela said trying quite hard to stop herself from giggling. “Bond, James Bond.”

Draco did not look impressed at her explanation but resolved himself of the perceived slight.

He turned back to Hela. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Draco held his hand out to shake. Fred and George’s jaws dropped at the blonde’s audacity and mentally added him to their prank list.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” she said coolly. Her eyes narrowed to silts, “You would do well to remember what I told you in the clothing shop. Now you have overstayed your welcome, take your ilk and leave.”

Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

All the inhabitants stood up.

“Say that again,” Hela hissed her face betrayed no emotion, but her eyes glowed with the promise of violence.

“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered at her.

“Unless you get out now, you will find out exactly how much I hate bigots,” said Hela, she had every attention of using all her physical and magical prowess on the boy. She slipped easily into a fighting stance and her wand slipped free of her arm sheath. Hela did not notice the oppressive feel of her magic as it filled the room or Fred and George brandishing their wands as well. Nemesis, who had been happily sleeping next to where Hela was sitting, hissed menacingly at the intruders who dared wake her.

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys?”

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Hela. Before he could touch her stack, Hela used a rather effective kick to the groin to incapacitate him. She turned to Malfoy with every intention to slug the pompous brat but was surprised, not really, to see he had turned tail. Crabbe grabbed Goyle and unceremoniously dragged him out of the compartment.

Fred and George looked like statues still, when a second later Hermione Granger came in.

“What has been going on?” she said, looking at flabbergasted boys and fuming Hela.

“You’ve met Malfoy before?” Fred said coming out of his shock.

Hela explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

“That family is no good. Just a bunch of muggle-haters,” George said shaking his head. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. Load a shit that is,” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you with something?”

“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“It was just me fighting, not them,” said Hela, scowling at her. “Would you mind leaving while I change?” she said addressing others in the carriage.

“All right—I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice.

When she was alone she pulled on the uniform with ease. She was glad it covered her scars.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train with your pets, they will be taken to the school separately.”

Hela and the twins smiled at each other. Hela supposed she had two friends now which was two more than she had ever had before. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The trio separated as they left the train due to the twins being one year above her.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Hela shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Hela heard a familiar voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Hela?”

Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me—any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Hela thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hela followed Ron, the twin’s younger sibling, after Neville and Hermione plopped in a boat.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then—FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried through a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them

“Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting a little distance from the cannon. I decided to boost the amount of students going to Hogwarts. I want there to be more characters to be involved. The average class size is 30-40 in each house per year but Harry's year is at about twenty total because of the war.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Hela’s first thought was that this was not someone to cross. 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Hela could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right—the rest of the school must already be here—but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family at Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

 “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Hela pulled on the edge of her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair “I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Hela swallowed.

“How exactly do they sort us into Houses?” Hela wondered aloud.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking," the twin's younger brother put forward. Hela rolled her eyes at the idea. The twins were definitely messing with their brother. The brother, Ron, on the other hand, thought it was completely viable.

Then something happened that made her flinch harshly and hunch her shoulders—several people behind her screamed.

“What the—?”

She gasped in disbelief. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”

A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old House, you know.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

Hela felt her lungs constrict and her heart pound in her chest. She slipped in the line just behind Ron and in front of Hermione.  She didn’t much like the idea of being on display even with the other first-years she thought as they walked through the doors into the Great Hall.

The hall was almost grand enough to distract her from her fear. There was a table for each house and above each table were large banners with the house crests. All the tables had golden plates and goblets. Candles floated twenty feet in the air casting the hall with their light. Hela did her best not to linger on the faces of the students watching the procession of new first-years. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Hela looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.”

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

Hela quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Hela could not fathom at the absurdity that preceded to take place in those next few minutes. The hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,

But don’t judge on what you see,

I’ll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There’s nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can’t see,

So, try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you’ve a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You’ll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So, put me on! Don’t be afraid!

And don’t get in a flap!

You’re in safe hands (though I have none)

For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron muttered under his breath. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Hela giggled slightly at Ron’s revelation. Trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. It may have been better to do it before the great feast. Especially since there seemed to be just under a hundred new students to sort. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Hela didn’t feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause—

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hela saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Hela could see Fred and George catcalling. Hela rolled her eyes and swore to prank them to the heavens if they dared do the same to her.

“Lena Moon”

“Gryffindor”

“Bulstrode, Millicent” then became a Slytherin.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. Hela hated the notion of being so on display even so briefly.

“Faye Dunbar”

“Gryffindor”

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Sometimes, Hela noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Hela in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. Hela decided she’d rather not be in the same house as the prat even if she was ambitious.

There weren’t many people left now, only around twenty remained to be sorted.

“Moon” …, “Nott” …, “Parkinson” …, then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil” …, then “Perks, Sally-Anne” …, and then, at last—

“Potter, Hela!”

As Hela stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Hela Potter?”

The last thing Hela saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She felt on the verge of hyperventilating at that moment and it was less than pleasant as she waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in her ear. “Difficult. Very difficult.”

“OH, sweet mother of god; What the hell?” Hela cursed, barely able to stop herself from shouting out at the intrusion.

“Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?”

Hela gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

“Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, its all here in your head and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."

“If you put me in a house with Malfoy, I swear the moment I learn how I will hex you into oblivion,” Hela glared at the hat mentally.

“I don’t doubt it. Well, if you’re sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Hela heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. Hela nearly passed out at the feeling of relief. She barely heard the overwhelming cheers from Gryffindor. She did, however, hear the twins yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

She smiled at the two happy to be in the same house as the two. They waved her over and plopped her onto the bench between them. All of the red-head clan seemed to be sitting close by as Percy welcomed Ron onto the seat next to him after he was sorted, and across from her and the twins. Hela was too absorbed in her conversation with the twins to notice the last few people being sorted after Ron. (She was happy to join in the cheers as he made his way over.)

The next time Hela was conscious of the events occurring around her Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Hela didn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“Is he—a bit mad?” she asked George uncertainly.

“I suppose he is a bit. He’s bloody brilliant though.”

“He does have a fondness for our pranks,” Fred chimed in. Before reaching for a food dish. “Pudding?”

Hela's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat at one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon at steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. This was more extravagant then even the Christmas dinners that Hela had been forced to make.

The Dursleys had never given Hela enough food to keep her full. In fact, their favorite punishment was for Hela to make the best foods and eat it all without giving her any at all.  Hela piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious. She ate with the ferocity of animal unsure when they would get their next meal.

Hela didn't notice but Fred, George, and Percy exchanged concerned looks at her behavior. She looked almost frightened someone would steal her food or hurt her.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

On the other side of the table, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons (“I do hope they start right away, there’s so much to learn, I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult—”; “You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—”).

Hela, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, leaned on George and looked up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Hela’s eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Hela’s forehead.

"Ouch!" Hela clapped a hand to her head.

“What is it?” asked Fred.

"N-nothing just hurt my toe."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Hela had gotten from the teachers look—a feeling that he didn’t like Hela at all.

“Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” she asked George.

“No wonder he’s looking so nervous, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to—everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape. He’s a right terror in the classroom.”

"We like to pay him a little extra attention if you catch our drift," Fred winked at Hela making her giggle slightly.

Hela watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn’t look at her again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

“Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

 “He’s not serious?” she muttered.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us, prefects, at least."

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Hela noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

And the school bellowed:

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now, they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So, teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.”

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march, much to the amusement of Hela, who was laughing so hard she couldn’t continue. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Hela, on the other hand, stuck rather close to the twins giggling at them mocking Percy. She was so tired she felt like she could sleep standing. They climbed staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Hela was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him. The twins laughed and pulled Hela off into a secret passageway but as they slipped around the commotion Hela could still hear Percy.

Percy raised his voice, “Peeves—show yourself.”

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

“Oooooooh!” he said, with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

"Go away, Peeves or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” barked Percy.

The three ended up at the common room portrait a good ten minutes before the rest of the group.

“Here we are.” They said in unison.

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” she said.

“Caput Draconis,” said Fred, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. And Hela found herself in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs. The three waited in amusement as the rest of the house trudged to their dorms. Percy didn’t even seem to notice they were already there. When Percy came in the twins slipped off to their dorms after a quiet goodnight and a promise to show her to the Hall in the morning.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitories and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase—they were obviously in one of the towers—they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Each room housed five girls and the ten girls split into their assigned rooms Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

Hela smiled at the other girls but was much too tired to much else. She resolved to get their names the following day. Hela fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Hela had eaten a bit too much because she had a very strange dream. Hela was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once because it was her destiny. Hela told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin, Malfoy was deterrent enough for her; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Malfoy, laughing at her as she struggled with it—then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light and Hela woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the twins.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see her face?”

“Did you see her scar?”

Whispers followed Hela from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. She hated the feeling of the stares on the back of her head. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Hela wished they wouldn't, she wasn't anything special she just lived through something extraordinary. All she wanted was to get to her classes without getting lost. All the staring was putting on edge.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Hela was sure the coats of armor could walk. But the twins, the geniuses they are, knew a great number of secret passageways. Fred and George walked her and their younger brother through no less than three that seemed to go in the exact opposite direction of the great hall but in less than ten minutes they were at the doors to the hall.

Hela, being a year below the twins, left with the gathering of first years to find her classes. Finding the classes was a trail in itself and then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. Hela had never enjoyed school before; it was a novel experience.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Hela had never been allowed to stargaze at the Dursleys, Vernon said it was unnatural. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Hela’s name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Hela had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only a couple people had made any difference to her match. Professor McGonagall was overjoyed, you could tell by her slight smile, and awarded points to everyone who succeeded.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Hela discovered that even the students from wizarding families did not know much about practicing magic. She also discovered that the wizarding world's perception of the muggle world was dangerously skewed. The so-called muggle-studies class the twins were taking was pathetic. They hadn't even heard of the internet, it was the twenty-first century for Merlin's sake.

Friday was the first day that Hela actually knew the way to all her classes. She was able to lead the gaggle of first years. Hela had been becoming close with Fred and George, but she had also tried to bond with the girls in her dorm. She was especially fond of the girls that slept to the right of her, Lena Moon and Hermione Granger. Hermione was a bit of an acquired taste, but Hela enjoyed having another girl as in love reading as her. Lena had a biting tongue that meshed with Hela’s own humor.

“What have we got today?” Hela asked Lena as she heaped bacon on to her plate.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Hermione from the behind her rather large book on runes. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. I’m sure he will be fine despite the rumors.”

“Good luck with that notion,” Fred chuckled as he and George settled down on the other side of Hela.

“He hates Gryffindors,” George shook his head.

 Hela went to reply but just then, the mail arrived. Hela had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning. She hadn’t got a letter yet, not that she expected one. She didn’t have an owl to visit her either (Nemesis sometimes came down with her though.). This morning, however, a large owl fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Hela’s plate. Hela tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Hela,

I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Numi.

Hagrid

Hela grabbed her ballpoint pen, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Numi off again.

It was lucky that Hela had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to her so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Hela had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she’d been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Hela—he hated her. Hela didn’t understand why he focused on her.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Hela’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Hela Potter. Our new—celebrity.”

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Hela and Lena exchanged unimpressed looks with raised eyebrows. He was a little overdramatic. Hermione, on the other hand, was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

 “Draught of Living Death,” said Hela further unimpressed by his blatant attempt to trip her up.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.

 “Okay Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

"In the immediate vicinity I'd say your ingredients pantry but in the stomach of goat otherwise," Hela said in a complete deadpan. Her tone caused quite a bit of giggling. Snape looked immensely unhappy at her for being correct.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

“They are obviously the same thing,” said Hela venomously. A few people laughed; Hela caught Seamus’s eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased with her cheek.

 “Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?” he snapped at the rest of the class.

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment or in Hela's case her favorite Ballpoint and spiral bound notebook. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn’t improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. Hela who had a true talent for potions was annoyed to see Snape only ignore her potion. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Hela and Lena, who had been working next to Neville.

“You—Potter—why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

“I may have stood for your unfair questions, but I will not have you accuse me of your teaching incompetence. You did not even bother helping anyone, you just babbled on about Malfoy’s potion,” Hela was seething. She hated bullies.

 

“How dare you. Ten points from Gryffindor for your insubordination,” Snape turned his cloak billowing out.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Hela’s mind was racing why did Snape hate her so much?

She was still bubbling rage several hours later as she dragged the twins, Lena and Hermione down to Hagrid’s.

When Hela knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “Back, Fang—back.”

Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said. “Back, Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Lena and Hermione. I suppose you already know these troublemakers," Hela told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Yeh redheads really stick together-eh?” said Hagrid, glancing the redheaded three. “I spent half me last year chasin’ yeh away from the forest.”

Lena and Hermione giggled at the indignation on Hela’s face.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Hela and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Hela’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

Hela, Fred and George were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git’’.

“An’ as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her—Filch puts her up to it.”

 “How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot—great with animals.”

 While twins told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Hela picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting of the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokes goblin this afternoon.

Hela remembered reading that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but only just saw the date.

“Hagrid!” said Hela, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Hela's eyes. He grunted and offered the group another rock cake. Hela read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As the five walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse, Hela thought that none of the lessons she’d had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn’t want to tell Hela?


	9. Chapter 9

The next day Hela roped Hermione and Lena into setting up a dorm hangout. Hela had never had anyone want to be her friend and damn she wanted to have a sleepover like the ones she always glimpsed on movies or read about in books. Hermione looked troubled at the revelation, even she had a friend before.

There were five girls in Hela's dorm room, Hermione, Lena, Fay Dunbar, and Eloise Midgen. Despite the promise, Hela made to herself to get to know each of them the first week had gone by so terribly quick that she hadn't had the chance to learn more than their names, bar Hermione and Lena. Friendship was a new beast to Hela and she hoped she hadn't missed her window to become friends with her dorm mates for the next four years. At the beginning of fifth year, the girls were moved into rooms they shared with one other person until seventh year when they were finally allowed their own, private room.

Lena was quick-witted and kind. Her tongue was as sharp as a razor and Lena was completely unrepentant when she used it, much to the worry of Hermione. Lena had bonded with Hela after Lena laughed at one of Hela’s moments of blatant sarcasm.  Hela and Lena were often seen rolling their eyes in exasperation at lectures from Hermione. Lena had lovely dark hair and deep blue eyes. She was tall for her age and towered over Hela.

Hermione was bookish and awkward, but she was also understanding and loyal. Despite only knowing Hela for a day she had lectured a fourth year Hufflepuff for ten minutes on the rules of polite society after she caught him staring and pointing at Hela. The boy had looked so ashamed by the end of her tirade that Hela couldn't contain her laughter. After that Hela decided Hermione would be an amazing friend. Hermione had light brown skin and extremely curly hair that was almost as unmanageable sometimes as Hela's.

Hela knew very little about the other two girls she shared a room with beyond their names. Fay Dunbar had wild look about her like she was an actual member of the Faye. Not that Hela would be surprised at this point if Fay was. Fay had long straight blonde hair, her eyes were a glittering brown flecked with gold, and her voice was unworldly. She tended to hang with Kelly Briggs, Rima Fitts and Dianna Cain from the other dorm. Eloise Midgen was a small girl; she was demure and sweet. She had brown eyes and light brown hair. She was not particularly remarkable, but she seemed to be a kind soul to Hela.

For that night Hela had convinced George to show her to the kitchens in the basement level of the castle. She had never seen such odd creatures as the house elves. It didn’t take long to the amusement of the onlookers, George was easily defeated when Hela widened her eyes earnestly.

“What does Missus Potter like?” one of the elves asked Hela.

“Umm, I’m sorry to trouble you but I’m trying to set up a small dorm party and George here said you guys make the best sweets,” Hela said unsure of herself. She didn’t want to burden the creatures but this apparently was the wrong thing to say because the elf began loudly sobbing.

“What did I say?”

George, on the other hand, was too busy laughing at her misfortune and confusion.

“George!”

“You is so kind to us Miss Potter. We’ll be giving you’s the best sweets we can make!” the foremost elf said proudly to Hela.

Hela was still shell-shocked at the creatures’ reaction by the time George got her back to the common room.

"You could have told they would react like that. I thought I hurt their feelings! Don't you laugh at me George," Hela said more than a little put out.

“Oh, but you should have seen your face,” George chuckled as Hela tried to hit him over the head with the nearest book she could find.

“You’ll rue this day Weasley, I swear it,” Hela said dramatically as she retreated to tell Lena and Hermione of her success.

 That night had five giggling girls gathered in a circle with an extremely large spread of snacks and sweets courtesy of the overzealous kitchen elves. Each girl had their pillows on the ground with them.

“So, girls, what should we do first?” Eloise said.

"Maybe we should go around and introduce ourselves and say something about our lives outside of school," Hermione suggested. The group unanimously agreed to the plan. "Who wants to go first?"

“I will,” Eloise happily perked up.  “Hmm… Let’s see, My name is Eloise Midgen. I’m from a full wizarding family but I love muggle fashion. Jeans are so much better than skirts all the time, y’know?”

“A girl after my own heart,” laughed Hela. “I didn’t own any before my Hogwarts letter.”

“I don’t doubt it,” snorted Lena. Hela threw a pillow in protest of the comment.

“Very funny. Fay do you want to go next?”

“Sure, my name is Fay Rove Dunbar. I’m a half-blood. My father is a muggle-born and my mother is a pure-blood from one of the minor houses. I have a passion for mythology and curse breaking.”

"That's so cool, I was just looking into Nordic myths and runes," Hela said her eyes lighting up at the subject. Nemesis chose this moment to stroll into the dorm with purposeful strides and settle on Hela's crossed legs. "Hello, my haughty little princess."

Lena rolled her eyes at Hela’s cooing while the other girls laughed at her quick change in demeanor. “Come on then Hela it’s your turn,” She said in exasperation. Hela stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

“Fine, fine. I’m Hela Potter. I’ve spent the last ten years living with my muggle family and I didn’t know I had magic until I got my letter. My favorite things in life are Nemesis here and books,” Hela said smoothing Nemesis’ fur to the cat’s approval. She didn’t seem to notice the looks of shock on the other girls faces at her admission of ignorance of her magic.

 “You had no idea about your magic?” Eloise looked horrified.

"Nope, to be honest, most of the people knew more about me than I did. The Dursleys wouldn't even let me say the word magic. They hate all this unnaturalness," Hela said bringing her eyebrows together at the concern emanating from the girls.

Lena saw that this was not a group conversation and decided to wait until later to address this. She gave the other girls a look to change the subject before nudging Hermione. She seemed to get the hint.

"Umm. I guess it's my turn then. My name is Hermione Granger. My parents are both dentists in the muggle world, I'm the first in my family to get magic. I love reading more than almost anything. Without it I don't think I could function," Hermione said slowly. She was working on talking at a reasonable pace on the recommendation of Lena.

Lena began her introduction quickly after Hermione. “Looks like it’s just me left then, my name is Lena Moon. I’m from an Irish pure-blood family but I actually live with my parents in America. I guess something cool that I love to do is ride horses,” Lena looked uncomfortable with sharing information about herself. This was not surprising as she was a private person.

“Okay now what?” Fay said after a mildly awkward pause.

"Makeovers?" Hela proposed hesitantly, wasn't that what they always did in movies? At this suggestion, Eloise lit up like she was a firework and dashed off to her chest with a squeal.

“I have just the stuff this! And my mother said I wouldn’t have any use for it, ha.”

After a moment of ruffling about in her chest, Eloise produced a rather large and extensive muggle makeup kit. It was full of every kind of product Hela had ever imagined. The kit had had every color a bunch of eleven-year old's could desire. Even Hermione, who usually scoffed at the idea of fashion and makeup, seemed impressed by the selection in front of them. The five shared a look of pure glee before they descended upon the kit.

It was an hour and a half later when they finished. Lena and Fay sported surprisingly well done smoky eyes while Eloise, Hermione, and Hela opted for more colorful looks. Overall the makeup looked strangely good for the work of elven-year-olds. Each of the girls had also brought out their favorite outfits to wear before they set out on the next phase of their night. The outfits each fit with the girls' personality. Hermione's cardigan and skirt made her look the scholar she aspired to be, Lena and Hela donned their favorite jeans and band shirts (The Weird Sisters and Blink 182 respectively), Eloise looked radiant in her favorite sundress and Fay appeared like her namesake in her pale purple flowing dress.

“Now that we all look bloody amazing, I think its time. Don’t you Hela?” Lena smirked and ignored Hermione’s exclamation of language in favor of wiggling her eyebrows at Hela.

“Oh yes,” Hela straightened up and leaned in, “Tonight, we do the impossible. We prank the un-prankable … The Weasley Twins!”

The other girls who had heard of the infamous twins looked more than a little unsure at the idea. Hela hadn’t been sure of this idea, but Lena had said it would be an amazing bonding experience. After ten minutes of discussing the proposition the girls decided to prank the twins.

“So, what’s the plan Hela?” Eloise said grinning.

"After they turned my shoes pink yesterday, I decided I had to retaliate. But I wanted them to not be able to know it was me. So, I found a jinx that can be set to only curse certain people when setting as a trap," Hela explained the gist of the spell. The fact that it would stain their hair whatever color they chose for an entire day. Fay thought green would be the best color and Hela had to agree. "What me and Lena need you guys to do is to distract the second year's boys from Fred and George's dorm, so we can set the trap ward to turn on when the twins pass through. What do you think?"

“I think… we have a plan,” Fay mischievously intoned.

Eloise, Fay, and Hermione headed down the stairs before Hela and Lena to start their distraction. The two waited exactly five minutes before descending the dorm stairs. Hela saw the backs of Fred and George before they crept towards the second-year boys' dorm. Lena watched the hall as Hela began her spell. The spell had two parts the first that sensed the targets and the second which was the actual jinx. The jinx would wear off in about a day but couldn't be taken off by anyone but Hela.

Ten minutes later found the group back in their dorm.

"Now, we wait," Hela winked. The girls burst into loud laughter. The twins would never see it coming. By this point, it was becoming a bit late, so the girls decided to pull on their night clothes and slip into bed.

At ten till twelve that night, Fred and George retired their plans for the night and stumbled to their dorm. They flopped on their beds after disrobing. They did not notice the change in hair color that night. However, the next morning they woke the entire tower with their yells, much to the amusement of five first-year girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mainly fluff but it gives a little background on the girls in Hela's dorm.


End file.
